


Blue Moon

by Octobig



Series: Aralene's Adventures in Rivellon [2]
Category: Divinity: Original Sin (Video Games), Divinity: Original Sin 2
Genre: Family, Fatherhood, Friendship, Gen, Light Angst, Other Companions Play A Small Part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 12:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15972311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Octobig/pseuds/Octobig
Summary: Even though Fane might be a grumpy, snarky skeleton from a bygone age, Aralene and the other Godwoken are quick to discover that he has an excellent way with kids. There’s a story behind it, of course, one that Fane only remembers in fleeting moments, made of half-truths and memories.Until the very end, when there really is no chance for redemption.[Or alternatively: the one where Fane is good with kids. Right up until he isn’t.]





	Blue Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coolgirl3890](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolgirl3890/gifts).



> This was written for the lovely [Dibella](https://dibella-goddess-of-beauty.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Her prompt: for the Godwoken to discover and see that Fane is good with children, and to discover why.
> 
> Aralene is my own Godwoken: a female elf with the [MYSTIC] and [SCHOLAR] background tags.

 

Fane sighs, dramatically so, and plants his heel firmly on the ground. The toe of his boot is still up in the air, hovering over a big, black spider. Nothing of the corrupted or Voidwoken kind – just an ordinary one.

The kind that hides in the deep dark corners of barns and farmhouses and catches flies in its web. It’s just that this one is particularly large, and the tiny boy across from Fane looks deathly afraid. He’s grasped Aralene’s skirts with his grimy hands and is half-hiding behind them.

“Before you command me to kill him, my liege,” Fane says, voice sharpened to an edge, “might I ask you a question?”

“Yes,” the boy answers, voice muffled, looking up at Fane with big, green eyes.

There’s a bit of dirt on his cheek, so Aralene reaches over to brush it off.

Fane crosses his arms in front of his spiky chest, canting his head to the side. “You live on a farm, good sir. What’s your favorite animal?”

The child looks momentarily confused, attention drawn away from the spider still at risk of being crushed by Fane’s boot. “Uh,” he stammers, “sheep. I think? And goats. The babies are very cute.”

“Excellent choice,” Fane agrees. “You know, sheep and goats are very useful animals.”

The boy nods, still holding onto Aralene’s skirts. She runs her hand through his hair. “For clothing, for milk. And for keeping the field tidy, ma says.”

“Quite right,” Fane nods. “And do you happen to know what animals bother your lambs and tiny goats?”

The boy purses his lips, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Uh,” he says, “flies. Especially in summer.”

“Fantastic!” Fane proclaims, lifting his hands. “Very clever of you. They’re swatting them with their poor little tails all day long, aren’t they?”

Aralene doesn’t suppress her smile when she realizes where Fane’s ploy is going, and instead draws curls into the boy’s hair. He actually takes a step closer to Fane, moving away from the protection of her skirts.

“Uh huh,” the boy nods.

Fane then points downward to his foot. “Now this critter here,” he says, “eats flies and other annoying bugs. Mosquitoes, too. So beyond being very scary, it actually has a purpose.”

His eyes land on Aralene; he looks like an elf, this time around. “Not unlike me, I suppose,” he adds dryly.

“Please, mister,” the boy says, “I really do hate spiders. They’re scary because they get into places they’re not supposed to go. Like my clothes.” He looks up at Fane, big eyes begging.

Fane taps his chin; glove against what Aralene knows is actually white bone. “You’ve made your point, kind sir. Are you ready for a spider ghost to haunt your farm, in that case?”

“Oh, sure,” the boy says, blinking. “I see dead things all the time anyway. Like you, Mister Skeleton.”

Fane stiffens instantly. “Oh my,” he says then, “aren’t you interesting.”

The boy looks up at him, head tilted to the side, and says nothing. But from the way his gaze lingers – over the center of Fane’s forehead, over his eyes, and over his chin – Aralene can tell that he’s probably not seeing an elf.

Rather, something different.

Fane’s boot slams down with a loud, hard crunch, ending the spider’s life. And the boy?

He looks positively elated.

Fane sinks to his knees and reaches over to him, removing his glove and holding out his hand. The boy stares in turn, fascinated by all the little bones holding themselves together as if by magic, and takes Fane’s hand without any hesitation.

“Come on then, dear fellow,” Fane says, smiling broadly. “Show me the dead things.”

The boy smiles. “’Course, sir!” he says happily, tugging on Fane’s hand, not distraught at all by the white-toothed grin he must be seeing.

Aralene watches them go, laughing quietly behind her palm.

 

* * *

 

“Y’know,” Ifan says one night by the campfire, slicing a few bits of meat to add to the stew, “I’ve noticed that you’re, uh…” He trails off, throwing Fane a roguish smile. “That you’re kinda good with kids.”

Fane, nose in a book as always, looks up. He’s not wearing the mask, showing his skull to the world uncovered.

“Did you have reasons to believe I would not be?” he asks, somewhat sharply, bony finger flipping a page.

Ifan half-winces, looking a little apologetic, and the sounds of the wind ruffling the trees and the crackle of the fire answers for all the others listening in. Beast pointedly looks away, coughing into his beard; the Red Prince looks judgmental and continues polishing his spear, and Sebille raises a sharp eyebrow.

“You are a walking, talking skeleton with a superiority complex,” she deadpans before Ifan can speak. “Why anyone would think you’d be good at natural interactions with the people around you is beyond me.”

Aralene gives Sebile a pointed look, and the assassin rolls her eyes.

Lohse frowns. “Oh, I dunno,” she says lightly, tapping her chin. “Plenty of kids are scared of other things than adults are. ‘Sides, isn’t his gemstone handsome?” She winks, elbowing Aralene in her side.

“Very,” Aralene says with a smile, feeling content enough not to add anything else.

Fane considers the topic carefully, head tilted to the side. Aralene agrees with Lohse once more; the firelight paints the blue of his gemstone in a warm, heady color. Like a star.

“Hmm,” Fane says, the sound muted as if he’s humming through a nose he no longer possesses. “I had a family, you know.” His voice is soft. “Long before, when I was not – not this.”

Ifan turns towards him, obviously interested. “You had kids of your own?”

Fane’s expressions are hard to read – all there is, is a skull in all its rigidity. No arches of his brows, no minute tremors over the edges of his face to tell his mood by. But his chin dips, gaze lingering over the flames.

“Just the one,” he says, lettering on the pages before him completely forgotten.

Aralene remembers what he told her in-between all her own grief to soothe it, speaking of family lost, and it grasps her heart like a vice. So she reaches out across, catching his bony fingers in hers, and squeezes them with a gentle smile.

But instead of the thing he told her – _can you believe it? Me, the scholar, and I cannot even remember her name?_ – Fane rattles a sigh coming from deep beneath his ribcage and keeps staring into the flames. His fingers flex in Aralene’s.

“I used to braid her hair,” he says, tone indifferent even though his voice is rough.

Skeletons don’t cry. But fathers that carry the shape of their daughters within them like a jagged wound do.

 

* * *

 

And then happens the tragedy of Peeper.

Aralene feels she should’ve seen it coming; should’ve felt an inkling that the egg might have been corrupted. Should’ve used her powers to scent it, to feel it out, but alas: too little too late.

Peeper – or whatever is inside of that cute little chick – kills the entire coop, and Aralene and her companions swoop in to kill him in turn. It’s not an easy job, and it feels like their hands are stained with guilt.

The people of the farm are devasted too, of course. Black Marge was their pride and joy, and they took good care of the entire coop. Now, they’ll have no eggs either. Another source of food missing, making it more difficult to last through the season.

The entirety of the Reaper’s Coast slowly crumbling down for the common folk, bit by Voidwoken-invested bit.

The eldest of the family, a girl of barely twelve, stands next to the empty henhouse.

Fane is standing next to her, leaning on his wand. He says nothing, a presence of a black shadow with a high collar. Human, today, though his features always remain sharp. Standing next to the girl in companionable silence.

He’s waiting for her to speak first, Aralene realizes.

“They wanted him back,” the girl says. “So badly. I don’t …” Her voice is very flat, stamped out by grief. “I don’t even think they regretted asking you.”

Fane hums, the sound discordant because of the lack of soft flesh in his mouth. “Ah. So you spoke to them.”

The girl frowns, not looking at him. “Yeah. Every day when I cleaned the henhouse or when I collected the eggs.” Her hands clench into small fists. “They were – they were _so_ proud of the eggs. Of Peeper.”

Fane leans closer, putting his gloved hand on her shoulder. He sheaths his wand with the other, tugging it to his belt, and pulls out a handkerchief.

She takes it wordlessly, tears already gathering at the corners of her eyes. “It’s not fair,” she says, voice breaking. “The war, the beasts, it’s not…” She exhales a long breath, her shoulders hunched and trembling.

Fane pats her back, easing out the tremble. “You know,” he muses, “I find that crying helps at times like these. Allows for a release.”

“Doesn’t make them come back,” the girl grits back, pressing the handkerchief to her eyes.

“Nothing will,” Fane says gently.

She’s crying now, sniffling. “I want to kill something,” she says.

“Don’t we all,” Fane says, the words light and easy but somewhat sad. Said like a sigh.

She finally turns to look at him with red-rimmed eyes, carefully studying his face. Fane looks back, not hiding emotions on his face; staring at her just as curiously.

“I didn’t know,” she says then, “that adults could look that sad.”

Fane barks a laugh, looking shocked. “Aren’t you an honest thing,” he answers.

Her small face grows oddly stern. “Mom says that truths beget truths,” she says, wiping at her cheeks. “Thanks for not treating me like a child.” She turns back towards the empty nests before her.

“Keep the handkerchief,” Fane says, wrapping his arm around her entirely. “I think you need it more than I do.”

She nods, leaning into him as they stare at the henhouse.

When Aralene comes back from speaking to the girl’s parents, a good twenty minutes later, they’re still there.

 

* * *

 

There are more of them, scattered throughout their adventure; all of them fitting together like the bright, geometrical patterns of a kaleidoscope.

A girl that attempts to pick Fane’s pockets while they’re in Arx and ends up with one of his ribs. Cue uncontrollable laughter from Lohse as the girl stands there, utterly dumbfounded, and Fane asks her with arched brows what the pickpocket would need an extra rib for.

He ends up giving her a hefty coin purse to keep her off the street. She steals him an extra tailbone back with a charming, gap-toothed grin. Fane wisely doesn’t ask from where and graciously accepts.

The boy whose cat they help find while they’re out in Driftwood. He has the makings of magic in them, and Fane entertains him endlessly with spells. They end up making the cat float, and the boy calls Fane ‘my wizard uncle’ before the afternoon is over.

An elven child from one of the enclaves in the Hollow Marshes who attempts to lick Fane’s arm to figure him out in an unguarded moment. And ends up with spluttering coughs, calling him out on having no skin.

Fane, endlessly amused, looks down at her. “No skin, but plenty of stories,” he smiles back instead.

And sits by her as he tells her the wildest tales of myth and legend. Maybe even truths, going back through time towards the ways of the Eternals.

It makes Aralene’s heart burst with affection. Ifan was right.

Fane is good with children.

 

* * *

 

Some stories are better without an ending.

Better left unsolved, so you can cling to the unknowing softness of them and bask in the fondness of what you do remember. What you recall in the muscle memories of your fingers – _braiding her hair, lifting her up, turning pages together_ – that gives you a melancholy sort of comfort.

Because sometimes, the answer that you get is too devastating to bear.

Fane’s scream tears a blunt hole into Aralene’s chest.

“I tore the world asunder!” he cries, with a wide sweep of his arm. “Allowed thieves and miscreants to make away with the greatest scientific discovery of our age!”

Dallis remains impassive. Face cold, white bone like her father’s. Gemstone polished and gleaming.

“And for what?” Fane says, desperation edging his voice. “For you to – stand here, between us, in a chasm so wide I can barely… can barely…” He clasps shaking fingers over his mouth.

Dallis is unmoving stone. “Atone for your sins,” she says with complete lack of emotion.

“I love you,” Fane says, voice breaking. “You were my daughter. I – ”

Dallis has no mouth to tighten, but she works her jaw. “Did you,” she says, voice sharp like a knife. “Because I don’t remember.”

It’s a sneer; an implication that she _does_ remember, but never felt it.

Fane sinks to his knees.

Undead cannot cry.

 

* * *

 

At the end of it all, Aralene stands on the deck of the Lady Vengeance. It feels oddly symmetrical; her story started on another ship, and her story will end on a ship out at sea. Same friends, but so many changes.

She feels it in her bones.

Fane is silent but restless. There is something pulling at him now, like magic or gravity, drawing his mind to other places. And regrets, too, weaving sullenness and pain into the way he moves and speaks.

He couldn’t strike the killing blow. They all understood the reasons why.

One night, he comes up to Aralene. He’s dressed impeccably as always, black collar of his robes standing up straight. There is a satchel over his shoulder, likely filled to the brim with books. The ones he didn’t chuck over the railing, that is.

“You were a good father,” Aralene says, because she feels it’s what he needs to hear.

“Hmph,” Fane says, canting his head towards her. “Perhaps I was simply making up for lost time.”

She turns towards the dark horizon, watching the smattering of stars. “You’re leaving.”

“Yes,” Fane confirms. “I never thought to search before, but now…” He pauses. “It’s different. If I’d been there earlier, perhaps then… Ah, ‘tis of no importance.”

He turns towards her, smiling with that strange, undead grin of his, and very unexpectedly pulls her into a hug. “Thank you for everything,” he says, one hand resting on her cheek.

Aralene places her own over his. “Return to me after, if you would?”

Fane nods. “Of course. If I can find her, I’d want her to meet you. And if I can’t, well…” He laughs, the sound clattering and a little empty. “I know now that adventure is out there, with you and the others. Be safe, Aralene.”

He stands up on his tiptoes, leaning his forehead against hers, stone warm against her skin.

And then he’s gone, walking the ocean like he does.

Aralene smiles.

 

**Author's Note:**

> come and find me [on tumblr](http://octobig.tumblr.com/)
> 
> if you enjoyed this, please consider slamming the kudos button!! thank you ♥ ♥


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